Frank Malzone was enjoying his bologna sandwich. And the potato chips. And the ice water.

It was true. He had only eaten a piece of toast around 7:45, and he was a man used to eating lunch right around noontime. And that was a rather skimpy breakfast.

So he could be excused, all 6'2", 215 pounds of him, for devouring the thick sandwich he made from the ingredients of his hostess' kitchen.

"I might have another. Hope you don't mind," Frank said between bites as the sandwich was quickly being reduced to size.

His hostess, Starr Munro, looked on. There wasn't much else for her to do.

It was about 45 minutes since Frank, on the run and tired as hell, caught a glimpse of Starr, a 23-year-old, slender but curvy blonde as she took out her trash. All he wanted was a place to stay. Somewhere to wrap his mind around why his day had started so normally but had careened out of control.

So he broke in as Starr took a nap in her bedroom. He woke the poor girl up by clamping his hand over her mouth.

There was a bit of a struggle and some histrionics, but Frank was far bigger and stronger than she, so it quickly turned into a mismatch.

Which is why Starr, a part-time low-level employee at a local law firm, was now forced to watch Frank eat.

The blonde's wrists were fastened to the armrests with her own bandanas. Her bare feet were pressed together and bound with a lamp cord that Frank cut from a bedroom fixture.

He crammed a wad of two more bandanas---thank goodness the girl had a dresser drawer full of them---into her mouth and held them in with, you guessed it, another bandana that he knotted and pulled between her teeth, knotting it behind her neck.

It was a rather enterprising way to use household materials, if Frank did say so himself.

"Grmrmmhphm...ngngnghhm," his hostess said in reply, her lips trying to work around the thick bandana knot that bisected them.

The story of how Frank, a computer security consultant, ended up in Starr Munro's home, was a weird one.

The morning started with Frank reporting to work as usual, and around 11 a.m. he took a meeting at another building across town.

Leaving it at 11:45, Frank was walking to his car when he was accosted by a trio of men for whom Frank did some freelance work several weeks ago. They accused him of stuffing their company's website with viruses and doing so in order to benefit a competitor, who they say paid Frank under the table.

It was not true, but that didn't stop the accusations. Frank did work for them but he didn't infect their website.

He was trying to explain that, when one of the men produced a gun while the others forced him into an alley. There was a struggle and the gun went off, striking Frank's attacker in the abdomen. Frank wasn't sure if the man was alive or dead when he fled the scene.

Normally someone in Frank's situation would simply run to the police. But these men were known mobsters and Frank was afraid that if he admitted to doing work for them, the cops would implicate him in their business.

Fortunately for Frank, a witness saw the struggle. The witness was an employee of a nearby cafe, who was smoking on a break. But Lord knows where the witness was. If Frank could only find him!

Frank ran because his car was nowhere near where the struggle took place.

He ran for several miles and finally into a neighborhood. Starr's neighborhood.

Frank had tried explaining all this to Starr, but the girl wasn't exactly in a mood to listen. She interrupted his story several times with angry growls and stomping of her bare feet. So Frank sighed and decided that he would try again later, when she calmed down. IF she calmed down. The girl seemed to be one of those excitable, loud, chatty types.

Frank had tried Starr---he got her name and ID from her purse---without the gag, but it was one epithet after the other out of her mouth (and loud), and he wasn't able to get a word in edgewise.

Now, with her mouth crammed and gagged, things were a lot quieter, though the girl did still try to talk to him.

That was OK. Frank was eating and for the moment, all was right in the world.

But his troubles were just beginning. So were Starr's---but she was no stranger to trouble.

Starr knew that she shouldn't have tried to nap in the day. What was she even thinking when she'd done that? Something was bound to happen - the universe hated her having any kind of moment of peace or calm or serenity. And as the great big hulking brute of a man sat there and ate her food, she knew that it was, without a doubt, happening again. No question about it - she was in trouble.

It had started because she'd decided to lay down for a nap after taking out the trash and she'd woken up with a start to find a man next to her, his hand clamped over her mouth. She'd struggled and screamed, of course, but he was stronger than her and then some and his body was taut muscle and unforgiving strength against her. The young woman had fought and kicked and bitten but he'd shrugged it all off like a great big grizzle bear and, in her mind, that was his name.

Grizzle Bear talked too much, Starr decided. He was chatty, rather prone to asking her questions when she couldn't answer and he had no respect for the appropriate use of a bandana. She loved them, collected them and he'd used them to tie her up.

"What self respecting hostage taker doesn't bring his own!?" Starr had asked as he shoved the bandana into her mouth, forcing her lips apart and she felt the gag reflex shushing her. He tied her and she struggled, fought and kicked. She'd landed a few good blows too, though it was like hitting a grizzle too. He was like a wall, she had decided.

At one point, he'd untied her gag. "What are you doing? WHAT!? I can't even begin to tell you, people are watching this house, you know! I'm part of witness protection!" She had been, once. But that was because of an unfortunate incidence at a bookshop and she didn't talk about it.

It was about the only thing, in fairness.

So, he'd gagged her again and she struggled and bit and kicked and once, she'd landed a pretty good headbutt. Unfortunately, she'd more or less knocked herself cold, but that was by the bye. She'd shown him. Eventually, though, she had to stop struggling and she looked at him with wide eyes.

"Ungg unngy"

It was as close to eloquent as she could get, but the young, slender framed woman looked at him with wide blue eyes and she wriggled in her chair. Now, she'd been having a nap and that meant that she was wearing her "sloppy joes" as she called them, which consisted of a pair of loose drawstring trousers in a grey check and a white vest top. She wore nothing underneath either of them, since she slept in them and so, as she wriggled her breasts pushed prominently against the top she wore, her pert nipples showing clearly as they pressed against the fabric.

Mouth held open by the gag, tied up as she was, Starr couldn't motion to the fact that she was hungry but, as much as she was able she put her barefoot feet on the floor and pushed, to try and get herself moving. Not quite realising her own strength - or more likely luck, but she'd take what she could, she topped herself, chair and all, to the floor with a loud, yet muffled from the cloth in her mouth, screech of surprise.

Frank was bemused as he saw the slender girl slowly stand, her wrists affixed to the armrests. He narrowed his eyes. What the hell was she doing?

She wasn't wearing a bra. He actually noticed that when they struggled---rather, she struggled; Frank held his own---but now, watching her slowly rise, Frank could notice the unmistakable signs of nipples straining against her top. Kind of hard to pick up on that when your wrapping a woman up and tossing her over your shoulder, as Frank did to get Starr into the kitchen.

He was still mesmerized by her boobs when suddenly those boobs started to tilt. Frank's head slightly tilted with them. But then he realized that the reason they were tilting was because SHE was tilting. And she was tilting because she---oops! That's gonna leave a mark.

The poor hostess was now on the floor, chair and all. It was far from a graceful fall. Frank's eyes were as wide as Starr's for a moment as they locked peepers.

"JESUS," he said, leaping to his feet. "Are you OK?"

Despite the fact that he was the girl's captor, Frank was also a human being and not really a bad one---just a desperate one. So his concern for Starr's well-being was genuine. The girl took quite a tumble, which could only have been exacerbated by the presence of the hard wooden chair. It was probably made of oak.

Frank's muscular biceps strained against his black t-shirt (he wore jeans and sneakers as well) as he lifted Starr back to an upright position.

"What on Earth was THAT all about?"

Frank sighed and sat back down, looking at Starr, her hair now all over her face. "I'd take the gag out of your mouth but the last time I tried that...it didn't go so well."

Frank frowned at his almost-finished sandwich. "I don't think I'll make another, after all. You hungry? I'm not much of a cook but my mother is Italian so I learned a little. Of course, I could do another bologna sandwich for you, too, as far as that goes."

Frank's rotten luck with women was partly due to his lack of listening to them. Really listening. Which was ironic, because now Frank didn't have to do any listening. Starr didn't have much of a vocabulary at the present time.

He looked at her right in her big, wide eyes. They were quite lovely. "If you're hungry, nod. If you want me to make you something, grunt. If you want something that's leftover, stomp your feet. We might as well establish some sort of communications system for you, love."

With that, Frank smirked, then yawned. He could stand to have a nap of his own, come to think about it.

She landed with a thump and pain flooded through her. Starr looked at him pleadingly and his eyes widened as he jumped up to his feet to help her. He grabbed her and lifted her, and the chair, back up to rights and she watched him with an expression of exasperation on her face.

"MMh! MMghh nnya nnunng nnnn?"

This kept happening to her and Starr was obviously telling him off in some way. Yet, she had to admit that of all the men who had caught her, kidnapped her, bundled her into the back of their car and so on - and there were a lot. Very few of them would have done that and she looked, just briefly, grateful to him. She shook her head around to try and get her hair out of her face, but she managed only to make it worse and she let out a growl of frustration. Then, she turned to glare balefully at him, hair in a state and breasts heaving with the exertion and adrenaline of having fallen.

The very second he asked if she was hungry she nodded. A lot. She was very much hungry and a deep grumble came from her stomach at the thought of something to eat. So, she nodded, nodded some more, grunted and stomped her feet.

And then, she started to cry and winced as she moved. Her arm was red and a bruise was already forming - she'd taken a nasty knock. Looking at the sandwich, though, she didn't care about the damn pain in her shoulder, she was starving.

"MMMHEEESS?"

Why? Why did this KEEP happening and, when it did - why did they always damn well gag her?

"I have no idea what you're trying to say, lady, but I do know that you're hungry."

Frank opened the fridge and pulled out the bologna and some American cheese. He was going to make a duplicate of the sandwich that he just consumed. As he got the items ready, he glanced over at Starr, who was watching his every move closely with her big eyes.

"Like I tried to tell you before: I really just need somewhere to gather my thoughts and chill. I have no intentions of hurting you, Starr. I really don't. I mean, you're hurt now, but it's because YOU chose to try to stand while tied to a chair."

He chuckled as he slapped several slices of bologna on a piece of bread. He topped it with some cheese, added mustard on top and completed the sandwich with the other piece of bread. As Starr watched closely, Frank sliced the sandwich in half. He sprinkled some potato chips on a plate, added the sandwich next to it, and set the plate in front of Starr.

He tilted her chin with his fingers. "I will take the gag off so you can eat. But the key word is EAT. If you start getting chatty again, the gag goes back and you blow your chance for some much-desired food. Understand?"

"Nnngghm," the girl said, rolling her eyes, before nodding.

Frank sighed and said, "Lord help me," as he reached behind her neck and untied the bandana holding the other two bandanas inside her mouth.

He pulled the exterior bandana away and used his fingers to combine with her tongue in order to expel the wadded up pieces of cloth.

He immediately clamped his hand over her mouth, just as she was about to talk.

"Ah-ah. Eat, no talk. Remember?"

Frank kept his hand over the girl's beleaguered mouth until she nodded. Then, he slowly pulled his hand away, as if he was trying to defuse a bomb.

He poured her a glass of ice water and set it before her. Next, Frank untied her wrists but left her feet bound.

"Eat," he said as he sat across from her. "Use your jaws, teeth and tongue to consume the sandwich and chips, rather than form speech."

He paused for a moment, then added, "Fine. You can talk. A little. Just a few sentences at a time."

He held up the sodden bandanas that had been inside her mouth. He was smirking. "These are earmarked for your mouth if you talk too much. Remember that, Starr."

If he knew that she was hungry, then he knew what she was trying to say, the big gallumphing idiot. Starr looked at him and rolled her eyes. But he moved over to start preparing food, he gently seemed to be preparing something to eat and she watched him carefully, trying to make sure that he wasn't tricking her. Her tears had dried, but she was in pain still.

He spoke, he chuckled and she glared at him. It wasn't funny that she was in pain, what was he being so downright gods-be-damned mean for. And yes, she was hurt because she'd fallen, but she'd been tied to a chair because he tied her to it. Still, he was making her a sandwich and Starr watched him, hunger causing her stomach to growl again and, when he looked at her she gave him the slight head tilt and shrug of someone who was sorry about that.

Watching him, she liked his attention to detail, his thoughtfulness when he put the potato chips down too and then he moved forward and he lifted her chin with his fingers. Starr's eyes widened at that, her breathing quickening as he touched her - she was afraid of him, there was no doubt. No matter how many times variations of this damn thing kept happening to her, she never got used to it and her eyes showed her fear.

But, she was brave, too and she watched him, not flinching from him as he lifted her chin.

He gave her a mini lecture on not talking and, if she could talk Starr would tell him that she wouldn't be wasting good eating time on chatting with him. But instead, she rolled her eyes again and then, oh then he untied her. She breathed out as he helped her take out the wadding, his finger in her mouth and then, suddenly, his hand was clamped over her mouth again. Large and strong, she could feel what he could do to her if he chose to and her eyes widened as she looked at him.

She'd only been going to say thank you. Gods, he was tense.

When he took his hand away she kept quiet as he untied her wrists and she grabbed, immediately, for the sandwich and started to eat. She didn't speak, but the noises of delight, the moans of pleasure and glee were undeniable. "Ohhhhh... mmmm... ohhhh.... " She sounded like a woman being pleasured by three men, so happy was she and frankly, she felt it. Never had a damn sandwich tasted so good.

He might notice that, when she ate, she did so with a small almost chipmunk like chewing, she relished every mouthful of her food and grabbed the glass of water, drinking from it and not caring that it spilled out of the side, pouring down on to her top where it clung to her, accentuating her bare breasts even more.

When he said she could talk, though, she shook her head and pointed to the sandwich. Her mouth was full and she was chipmunk-chewing as she lifted a hand to cover her mouth, politely.

"Uts gud. Gud. Hanks," she said, the food muffling her voice.

When finally she'd finished, she looked at him. "This happens to me all the time. You're the sixth man to take me hostage. Do you guys have a notice board and I'm on there?"

Frank could only marvel at Starr as she consumed the sandwich. One would think that SHE was the one on the run who hadn't eaten in many hours.

The girl attacked the poor, defenseless concoction of Frank's. Before he knew it, Frank found himself mesmerized, sitting down across from Starr. It was actually refreshing to see a woman actually EAT. So many girls Frank knew ate like birds. Not this one, unless you compared her to a vulture.

Frank especially enjoyed watching how Starr's heaving chest with the perky nipples rose and fell with every inhalation of the sandwich. He happened to look toward the floor and he saw her bare toes curl with excitement as she devoured the sandwich.

When all were left were crumbs, Frank placed both of his strong hands on the table and lifted himself to a standing position. As he did so, his biceps bulged and it was easy to expect his shirt to tear, as if he was turning into the Hulk.

"That was...impressive," Frank said as he cleared Starr's dish.

When his back was to her at the sink, she said something about his being the sixth man who'd taken her hostage. Frank slowly turned around, his right hand still holding her plate, and looked at her, narrowing his eyes.

"WHAT?"

That hardly seemed possible. Starr was 24, if Frank did the math correctly when he found her driver's license.

"Wait a minute," he said, waving the plate around as if he forgot that he was holding it. "You've been held hostage SIX times?"

Frank rolled his eyes. The girl was pulling his leg. Being goofy. Maybe the fear over the situation was making her say odd things.

Well, she wasn't going to be saying much pretty soon.

After he rinsed the dishes and set them in the sink, Frank marched back to Starr and grabbed the bandanas once again. Expertly, he went to work again, fastening her wrists to the armrests. She started to protest, so he shoved the sodden pair of bandanas into her mouth, mid-sentence.

"Hey! Again you're tying my hands? Where do you think I'm gonna g-mmfmfmfm!"

"MUCH better," Frank said as he finished Starr's wrists.

Next, he regagged her as before, just as tight and just as effectively.

"Scream," he commanded. When she looked at him, puzzled, Frank repeated, "SCREAM."

He wanted to test the effectiveness of the gag. Frank was very analytical in his work. So it made sense that he took that approach as a hostage taker.

Once the girl screamed and Frank was satisfied, he'd use his phone to scour the local news websites, to see if there was any news on the little incident in the alley.

It felt, quite frankly, like she was the one that was on the run. Or hadn't eaten in a day or two. She devoured the sandwich and she looked at the man who had kidnapped her gratefully. Would it be a compliment to tell him that, of all the people who had kidnapped her, he was her favorite and quite the most thoughtful? No, she decided, as compliments went, it sucked.

When she was done, he stood and Starr noticed his muscles, bulging fit to burst and she watched him, wide eyed and thoughtful.

"Thanks. It was a good sandwich," she said, when he told her that it was impressive. She'd been hungry, what did he want?

"What?" Starr replied and then he started waving her plate around and she motioned to it with her hand. "Steady. That was Aunt Edie's best crockery once upon a garage sale." She shrugged slightly, looking a little embarrassed. "Yeah, six times. I don't know why!" He washed up the dishes and she continued. "I mean, no one ever believes me, but it's there. Look in the living room in the folder on the shelf. They did a news article on me, and everything. You'll be famous. Oh, that's probably not good." She thought and then, he turned and marched back over to her.

"There's not a need for you to do this. I can say I was asleep. Dead. On the moon, with my friend Dave. I mean, I don't have a friend Dave, but if I did he'd be a moon kind of guy. Hey! Again!? Again, you're tying my hands? Where do you think I'm gonna..."

And then, the godsdamned asshole pushed a bunch of soggy bandanas in her mouth. She glared at him and struggled, really struggled in her chair. He tied her mouth, putting the gag in place and she moved her head left and right, but he was so damn strong. So, damn strong.

He told her to scream and she shook her head.

"Hmg urf!" she said, and she knew that he knew what she meant.

He wanted her to scream, so she did. At about half the loudness she could (which in fairness, was about the normal human maximum), but Starr figured, just in case, it was worth having an ace up her sleeve.

"Hnnng! Gorjng!" She didn't like him, she decided. No matter how good a bologna sandwich he made.

Frank liked Starr better the way she was now---unable to talk and break his concentration.

The nonsense about being held hostage and kidnapped six times? Frank wasn't going to indulge her and look into some folder in the front room. Maybe the girl had some sort of mental problem. Or again, maybe it was her way of coping with the current situation. Regardless, Frank wasn't in the mood.

He had moved her to the front room and put the TV on for her by merely tipping her chair and sliding it across the linoleum and then the carpeting, which made for a bit of a bumpy ride. The local news wouldn't be coming on for another couple of hours.

Through a series of charades and yes or no questions, Frank was able to get Starr to choose a station. It went something like this.

"Do you want to watch a movie?"

Head shake no.

"Maybe a cooking channel?"

Eye roll, head shake no.

"The news?"

Growl and head shake no.

"Help me out here."

"Lmmem ememe ahmm ehm rrrmoohm."

"Huh"?

Angry foot stomp and a repeat of the above, slower.

It went on for a bit, until Frank realized that the girl wanted the remote. He tucked it under her right hand (after asking if she was right or left handed) and let her work it. Starr brought up her DVR recordings and settled on a movie that she was halfway through.

Sighing after that ordeal, Frank plopped down on the sofa, near where he had placed Starr, and started scouring the Internet. The incident hadn't made it to the local news sites, as far as he could see. Next, he made a phone call. Frank didn't have a personal lawyer but he knew some folks who did.

His first call was to a longtime friend, Lenny Moore. Frank briefly described the situation, but as soon as he mentioned that he would need legal advice, Starr perked up and started prattling into her gag. Again.

Her eyes were wide and she practically bounced in her seat with excitement. Did she know a lawyer? Did she work with lawyers?

Starr jutted her jaw out and grunted urgently. The girl wanted to talk. Bad.

Frank narrowed his eyes and frowned. "Hold on, Lenny," he said, before muting the phone. He sighed heavily and looked at Starr.

"WHAT, doll? Is this a trick? This better be good."

He stood and debated whether to remove the gag. It was so much better when it was on.

A certifiable, able to get his own little room with no sharp edges and soft walls maniac. That's who was kidnapping her this time. Starr looked at him as he asked some of the most ridiculous questions any kidnapper had ever asked and she rolled her eyes.

It was a TV for the love of God. How hard could it be? No, she didn't want to even watch TV but he grabbed her chair and dragged her. She cried out all the way, this was bumpy and she'd already fallen over once. That was his fault too.

No. She didn't want to watch a move. No, not a cooking channel either.

"Are you some kind of idiot!" Starr yelled. Except, of course, it didn't come out that way.

"Lmmem ememe ahmm ehm rrrmoohm."

And then, finally, he handed the remote. She looked at him as he tucked it underneath her hand and she growled.

"Ueggrr ahhn aaathgssgg ooo!"

That told him.

But even though she turned on the TV to drown out the noise of his stupid breathing, it didn't work and he was on the phone and then he was talking about needing legal advice. Oh, for pity's sake.

He chatted to his friend, he ignored her and she made enough noise that even his thick head couldn't miss it and then, finally he ungagged her. "Look in my purse. My business card. I'm a legal assistant and if you spent less time worrying about stupid TV programmes and more... HEY!"

Well, she thought, as he turned and walked out of the room, that was just rude.

As soon as Starr said "legal assistant," Frank was off to fetch her purse from the kitchen. After some brief rummaging, he found the business card of which she spoke.

Son of a bitch!

He marched back into the front room to see Starr twisting her wrists, apparently trying to free them. But Frank didn't care about that at the moment.

"So you know lawyers," he said breathlessly. "What kind of lawyers?"

The irony was lost on Frank as he looked at Starr. The woman he was so intent on gagging was now being quizzed with urgency.

But before she could answer, Frank said, "Wait. I have to be careful here. These guys are mobsters, the ones after me. So your lawyer people...do they have any experience with that kind of thing?"

Frank looked at Starr, biting down on his lower lip. He briefly considered untying her but didn't want to get too excited. It was enough that he was letting her talk. She could stay put in that chair. She wasn't in any pain or major discomfort.

In the few seconds before Starr answered his questions, Frank's mind raced with various scenarios about how his situation could turn out, regardless if Starr's lawyer folks were the right kind of lawyers for him or not.

He left the room and she started trying to get her hands free. He was too damn quick for her, though and so he got back before she could and he looked at her then asked her about the people she worked with. As he began to shoot off question after question, Starr looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Then, she sat back and stopped struggling, looking at him.

And looking. She stared at him and she waited until he'd asked all the questions he was going to ask and then, in her head, she counted to one hundred and forty six. It was the best she could do before she had to answer him, because the guy looked like he was going to have apoplexy and die if she didn't, and then she'd be stranded here tied up and the irony would be that the sandwich he'd just fed her would be her last meal.

Nope.

"No," she said, softly. "They're bunny lawyers. They only works with bunnies and teddy bears. Santa Claus is our patron and at Easter we all get a bonus." His face said it all but Starr didn't care. "There are fairies and elves at the office and yes of COURSE they have experience with that kind of thing, you idiot."

Yes, she thought, this was why he was going to gag her again.

Before he did, though, she got in there quickly. "And the big boss wants to sleep with me, so you'd better not gag me or I won't help you!"

Frank narrowed his eyes at his captive hostess. If there was anything he detested, it was a woman who thought she was smarter than he was. And that was exactly the way Starr was behaving.

His instinct was to grab the bandanas and shut her up again, but the girl made a plea otherwise.

"Oh really," Frank said, exhibiting more than a little skepticism. "So what are you saying, Big Mouth? That just because he's supposedly sweet on you, I ought to be nicer to you? How does he wanting to sleep with you mean a hill of beans? You don't really want to sleep with him, do you? Besides, do you think you work for the only lawyers in town?"

Starr began to retort, and Frank used the opportunity to shove the two sodden bandanas back into her moving and open mouth.

"Enough," he said before completing the gag again by tying the third bandana between her teeth.

Frank patted her cheek before dialing his phone.

"Me again," he told Lenny, before giving him the name and address of the law firm Starr worked for. "Check this firm out. See if anyone knows anything about them. My little hostess here works for them."

Frank also told Lenny to especially get some information about Charles Hilger, the most senior partner and the "big boss" Starr referred to.

After hanging up, Frank looked at the bound and gagged young woman.

"Your supposed other kidnappers...did they shut you up, too? I highly doubt, with that mouth, that I'm the only one."

With that, Frank snickered and headed to the kitchen. He saw beer in the fridge and a cold one sounded really good.

"Did you just call me Big Mouth? You dick." Starr looked at him and, of all things she burst into tears. "Why are you being so mean to me? What's wrong with you? You break into my house and I'm... I'm just trying to help you because you don't seem like a bad person, just... just in a bad.... YOU SHIT HEAD!"

He talked about who she worked for and was a complete ass and Starr started to answer, but he shoved the bandanas back into her mouth. She had never in her life wanted to bite someone as him and she aimed a sudden, swift and surprisingly accurate headbutt at his nose.

She missed, of course, and flung herself forward, falling into his arms, more or less. But she'd aimed it. He straightened her and she glared at him. He spoke to whoever he was speaking to and, when he used the words "supposed" other kidnappers, she felt tears prickling her eyes again and she yelled at him, telling him to just go and look at the damn things in the living room she'd told him about and if he wasn't such an unutterable asshat he'd do that and that he was a total idiot and she hated him. HATED him

Unfortunately, it game out as a series of consonants.

Then, he walked out and left her alone and Starr felt all her anger leave her and, alone and gagged, she started to cry.

The girl was sobbing when Frank returned with a cold beer in his beefy hand. He rolled his eyes.

"Please...that's not going to work," he said as he downed a large sip of beer and said "Ahhhhh" because it felt so good. "Cry a river. I don't care. You want something to cry about? How about potentially being arrested for manslaughter or second degree murder or whatever---AND not being able to go to the police because you have ties to the mob that don't look flattering."

Frank frowned at the sobbing girl who was trying to get it together.

"You? You'll be fine after I leave. I'll call into the police with an anonymous tip that a girl is in trouble at your address. After I'm gone, the cops will show up and free you. You can give them any physical description that you want. You don't know my name and never will. For now, you can call me Asshat or Lester or whatever you want," Frank said. The name Lester popped into his head because that was the name of the man who Frank accidentally put into the hospital with life threatening injuries.

Next, Frank tilted Starr's chair again and dragged her back into the kitchen. He sat across from her and made eye contact, crouching slightly in order to do so.

"You asked me why I'm being so mean. OK, maybe I am being mean. Hell, I know I am. This is no way to treat a hostess, or a lady. I understand. I have...a lot of adrenaline right now. And stress. And tension. And maybe some anger issues. And it's all being projected onto you, and I know that you didn't ask for any of this."

Frank reached over and gently brushed some of Starr's hair from her face. "You're very pretty. And that's not me being creepy because I have evil plans for your body. It's just an observation."

With that, Frank stood up straight and leaned against the counter, drinking his beer and just looking at her. His gaze lingered over her bound and gagged form, from head to bare toe. He continued to look at her as he finished the beer.

She'd be fine? Fine after he left? Starr shook her head, furiously and she made all sorts of strange muffled noises as she did. She wouldn't be fine, it was just like every other time and he was a great big asshat to behave in such a manner. He came back in with a beer and she tried to pull it together, to pull it together in front of him. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his 'big mouth' comment had hurt her feelings and she glared at him.

When he said that she could call him Lester, though, her eyes lifted to him and, for all that there were tears on her cheeks, Starr's eyes crinkled with mirth. What a stupid name, she thought. But Asshat was grabbing her chair and dragging her back and then, when he'd deposited her in the kitchen, he sat and looked at her.

He told her that he knew he was being mean and then he reached out and brushed her hair and Starr's eyes widened as she watched him. Looking at his hand as it moved towards her, she kept her gaze on him and she mumbled some words, incomprehensible as they were, the tone of them was more gentle, more questioning.

No, she shook her head, she didn't ask for this, but she breathed out and leaned her head against his hand, just for a brief second. And when he said she was pretty, she looked at him in surprise - like she was surprised he, or anyone, thought it. He got a bit creepy though, then, as he stood and stared at her, so Starr decided to stare back. He was a well built, handsome man and she thought that he looked kind of sad. Maybe lonely.

When he asked if she wanted to try without the gag, Starr nodded. He moved and took the gag off her and she looked at him. "I wasn't lying about the other kidnappings. I wasn't. I've got no reason to lie to you about something so stupid, have I?" She sniffed, tears still running down her cheeks. "This stuff keeps happening to me." Her eyes lifted to him, then and she looked confused and conflicted. "What are you going to do with me? I'll... well, I'll help you if you want. Just don't be so mean?"

Frank tilted his head as Starr spoke, her voice husky and soft from having been gagged so much.

Help him? How?

He fought to not roll his eyes when she maintained her assertion about her other run-ins with captors. If true, the girl would be the most frequent damsel in distress this side of Lois Lane.

But Frank didn't care anymore about that. He was dwelling on her offer to help.

"Help me. How? I know that might seem like a rhetorical question, but really---how? I mean, I know you know lawyers. But are you talking beyond that?"

Frank pondered the awkward, shy offer as Starr answered him. She was an attractive woman. Maybe that could be leveraged. She had a car. She was someone NOT being pursued by the cops and mobsters concurrently.

Frank needed money but he wouldn't ask her for that. He knew people, like Lenny, who he could tap into for cash. He would arrange a rendezvous at Starr's house for that.

Frank couldn't believe it, but the more he considered the girl's offer, the more he thought it had credence.

For now, he'd keep her under wraps. But she could be an asset. He needed to treat her as such. But the notion was still unusual. Crazy enough to work?

He didn't believe her, Starr knew it. Asshat Lesley-face didn't. But he did want clarity on how she could help him. "I don't know, exactly, do I?" she said, looking at him with an expression that was almost exasperated. "You're in some kind of trouble, I can help with legal stuff." She wasn't a lawyer, but she was a well trained legal secretary and she knew people. There were people at work who'd help her, she was sure.

"I don't have a lot of money, but I've got a car." She breathed in and her lower lip was trembling as she did. Her voice was hoarse and weaker than usual, but she looked up at him with defiance in her eyes. "And I've got no reason to lie." Why did it bother her so much that he didn't believe her? Starr really didn't know and she didn't want to think about it too deeply. But the bottom line was, "I've been kidnapped and held hostage a lot of times and you're a bit rubbish at it."

She lapsed into silence then and hung her head; she was wrung out, emotionally and he'd dragged her around all over the place. She didn't know what he'd done, why he was running or who from - who or what he was wrapped up in or with, but he was the goofiest hostage taker she'd ever had. It was kind of endearing, if she was honest - it meant that he seemed almost vulnerable.

Frank rolled his eyes at the Lesley comment. The girl didn't even get his fake name right.

He moved toward her again. "I might take you up on some of this stuff. Right now I just want a place to hang out, where no one can find me and no one would think to look. I really am just working in the moment for now.*

With that, Frank sighed and looked away before returning his gaze to Starr. "Here's the deal, though. I don't want very many people to know about my situation. Is there a lawyer where you work who you trust more than the others? If you don't trust any of them, let me know that too. Maybe you can help set up a meeting."

Frank started to pace a little. "I'll meet the person. Tell them my story. Then go from there. But it has to be on my terms. Period. And as for your car, where are the keys? Does it need gas?"

When he finished his list of demands and instructions, Frank once again tilted Starr's chair and dragged her into the front room, setting her near the couch as before.

"You wanna walk around? Sit in here for awhile. I need to think and plan. Come up with what I need. Point me in the direction of paper and pen. Then when I'm ready for a mental break I'll free you from the chair and you can stretch your legs. Sound good?"

He would take her up on the offer? Thank you wouldn't kill him the great big oaf. Still she sighed. He was working in the moment? "It shows. You're rubbish at this. But yes, I know someone." She rolled her eyes slightly. "He kind of has a thing for me. I don't have a thing for him. Awkward." But then, Starr had a Good Idea and she looked up at him suddenly. "You could pretend to be my husband or boyfriend or something. That way, he'll help you but he'll leave me alone, too!" That was a win win situation. But as for trusting him? Starr shrugged slightly.

"Nigel's alright. He's too nice to be a lawyer, you know? But he makes up for it by being smart, really smart." She motioned with her head to where there was a drawer under the coffee table. "There's a pen and paper in there." Assuming that he went there, the low coffee table being a testimony to how good a housekeeper Starr wasn't - it was clean, but there were rings and dents and nicks in it. She really didn't see the point in fussing about things. People fussed about things so damn much.

The young woman watched as Lesley (or was it Liam? Starr was so rubbish with names) opened the drawer to get the pen and paper. There were those things in there, but there was also, sitting on top of the book, a cutting of a newspaper. "Is This The Unluckiest Woman In America?" the title asked and there, next to a picture of her looking awkward and sheepish and trying really hard not to was the byline, "Lightning ~ or being held hostage ~ strikes six times in three years!" Starr watched him. "Told you so, didn't I? Why would I lie about something so dumb?"

Her car keys, she told him, were hanging up behind the kitchen door. Or they were in the plant pot. If they weren't there, there was a bowl in the hallway and if all else failed? "You can whistle for them. Or I can, and they'll whistle back. But it's high pitched and might offend your delicate sensibilities and the car doesn't go if you gag it."

But he had the pen and he had the paper and he needed to plan, So she sat, quietly, no speaking. It was best not to, after all, so she was quiet. It was important to be quiet, he liked quiet. "What are you doing, Liam?" Starr asked, roughly seventeen seconds after she'd lapsed into one of the longest silences of her life.